Red Pen Mama

I didn’t write a lot about what was going on with us last week for two reasons. One was I wanted to get that post about X and The Ex off my plate. It was something I really wanted to write about, and I knew if I got involved in “the daily” I wouldn’t get it done.

Two, I wasn’t having a lot of fun.

Since I have come back to work, the girls have suffered several infections and ailments (some mysterious). I don’t know that the two are connected, although it is hard to dismiss the coincidence. The most stressful part of it (aside from having sick children) is dealing with it long distance.

As a typical example, I will get a phone call from Day Care Lady:

DCL: Monkey/Bun is running a fever.
Me: How high is it?
DCL: Oh, about 100 degrees.
Me: How has she seemed?
DCL: She’s a little fussy. But she ate well. OR: She’s screaming her head off/Telling me her ear really, really hurts. She won’t play/eat/nap.
Me: Should I come get her?
DCL: It’s up to you.

So then I agonize about whether or not I should leave work, and phone the pediatrician’s office in the meantime. If I get an evening appointment, it goes: pick up kids, take Sick Kid and Well Child to doctor’s office where Sick Kid cries and cries while Well Child jumps around and is loud to get the attention that Sick Kid is getting from Mommy and The Doctor, hear Sick Kid has another ear infection (or two), get prescription for antibiotics, leave office, try to get dinner into kids, run to pharmacy to fill prescription, keep kids occupied while prescription is filled (this is why we go to the Target pharmacy), go home, wash/bathe children, get them in pajamas, get medicine into the sick one, get milk and/or cookies into children while they watch a video, read books, sing lullabies, collapse into exhausted heap on couch, drink a beer, go to bed my own self.

One or two days later: Repeat with formerly Well Child as Sick Kid.

My father-in-law has taken Sick Kid on one or two occasions; he was the one on hand the day DearDR had to get to work and we had the paperwork for the medical proxy. Then I am on the phone with him and the doctor, listening to Sick Kid crying in the background. This is stressful for all of its own reasons, including the fact that my FIL — as much as I do love the man — is kind of useless with the kids. He gets them to the pediatrician’s office, and gets them back to DCL, and that’s about it. He doesn’t ask the doctor anything — hence I am sitting at my desk 30 miles away talking on the phone; he doesn’t really listen to the doctor; he doesn’t drop off the prescription to be filled. (He thinks we should get our prescriptions filled at a different, closer, pharmacy. He is not all about the multitasking possibilities of Target.)

It would be much better if Bella were our medical proxy, but Bella has a lot on her plate already. Nanny is not doing very well. (Additionally, my grandmother, up in Erie, is not doing well either.) More details on this in another post.

The most frequent diagnosis has been ear infection. They have each had four in the past five months — on two occasions (if memory serves), both of Bun’s ear have been infected.

The upshot of all of this is that my girls have been referred to an ear-nose-throat (ENT) specialist. I have an appointment at the end of the month.

I am having a lot of regrets about my use of antibiotics. My thinking at the time was simply, “Oh, it’s just an infection. It’ll go away with this medicine.” And, true to form, the infection did go away. For awhile. But then the infection, or another infection, came back. Again, and again, and again. In Monkey’s case, she took a break from the ear infection to get a throat infection.

I wish I had taken the “wait-and-see” approach to the ear infections. As in “wait 48 hours to see if the infection clears up on its own, treating the pain and low-grade fever with ibuprophen and/or acetiminophen”. Many an ear infection will just clear up on its own, according to the literature.

There is a chance, of course, that I would be right back where I am, only having put my children through a couple more days of pain first. So there is no point in beating myself up about it.

But now I keep thinking about facing a man, an expert doctor-type man, who is going to tell me to put tubes in my children’s ears, and saying, “No thank you. They’ll outgrow it.”

I need some ammunition people. I will be doing my own research, of course.

Or, if you or someone you know thinks tubes are the way to go, some encouragement in that direction. DCL says tubes are awesome (her oldest son got them as an infant). My father advises passionately against them.

I should explain here that as an infant and a toddler I had ear infection after ear infection. The last course of treatment my pharmacist parents agreed to was one month of 1 teaspoon of amoxicillin daily. I recall having a couple ear infections as an older child, too, around 5 or 6 years old. But ultimately, I did not get tubes, and I’m fine (my ears are fine, in any case — I’m a bit of a loon, frankly).

Advice welcome; assvice will be submitted for ridicule. Thanks.

“It’s probably a virus, and there’s nothing much we can do for her.”

Great, thank you. I missed half a day of work for this, which means I have to work half a day on Saturday? Fan-freakin-tastic.

Admittedly, when your 3-year-old starts screaming that her lady business hurts (yes, she knows all the scientific names for everything, she just chooses to use “lady business”, courtesy of DearDR) when she is peeing, you kind of figure something is up. And it’s better to go to the doctor than not.

And now, I’ve got a 3-year-old who seems to have no problem peeing when someone else is in charge, but when I take her, she balks and cries and says it is going to hurt.

The medicine I picked up at the doctor’s suggestion (takes the sting out of peeing; turns urine orangey-red) stains everything bright yellow. It is a pill, see, and I have to crush half of an adult-sized dose, then mix it with some kind of liquid and get the 3-year-old to drink it. That didn’t go over well at all last night, and now I have a bright yellow stain in the middle of my already-not-so-attractive kitchen floor linoleum. And she’s not going to be able to wear that shirt again.

I suppose I could ask her to snort it, but I might be prepping her for a bad habit later.

I am very tired, Internet peeps. And real peeps. And family members. I don’t think I have it any harder or any worse than anyone else — at work, at home, in my extended family. So, while I don’t want to complain, I really want to complain.

I’m tired. My head is splitting. I have been working from 7 a.m. to 4:30 or 5 p.m., Monday through Friday; I have to come to work on Saturday this week.

When I get home, it’s kids and house duty. I can’t get to bed before 10 p.m. even when I need to.

The children have gone to the doctor every month so far this year; some months, we have had to go twice. They have been on nine antibotics between the two of them, and had three viruses (at least).

DearDR works. That is what he does. He works every day, longer hours than I work, and he gets less sleep than I. On Sundays, he makes brunch and cleans the hell out of the kitchen. And, then, often works a little.

I’m tired. And I’ve got five more weeks of overtime to go. Oh, well.

Maybe it’s time to schedule that spa visit (DearDR got me a gift certificate for Christmas).

For the record: It was 4 a.m. today.

And then coughing, sniffing, kicking, pulling and general restlessness until 5:30 a.m.

I’m telling you, icebox or no, next time Monkey climbs into bed with us, I’m going into her room.

I honestly don’t think I have gotten a complete, full night’s rest since I conceived Gabriel in October of 2002. Not even on “vacation”. I know I have plenty of company.

And a study like this comes out. Makes you want to go on a rampage.

I’m going to try to lay down. Sleep may be too much to hope for, as I will be in the same room as Monkey (on her couch); she is still coughing. I am hoping that she will feel that 4 a.m. wake up, too, and just pass out eventually. If everything is quiet enough.

I keep meaning to post photos of the Christmas festivities (such as they are), but DearDR disconnected the digital camera port, and I haven’t figured out which wire goes where yet.

I have been looking around the blog-o-sphere, and it looks as if everyone has had a good time. I have no complaints myself. It was too busy; it always is, especially now, married with kids. I said to DearDR, “One of these years, I would like us to just be in one place all day long on Christmas.” He replied, “That would be nice.” I added, “How about Italy?”

What? That’s one place.

Come back Friday. More to see; more to read. My house is a zoo, and Bun’s birthday is Sunday. Oy.

Oh, yeah, Happy New Year too….

This post is dedicated to my friend LK who is beginning to toilet train her 2 and 1/2 year old, A.

Dear LK,

You sound like you have a plan for potty training, which is much more than I had when I began with Monkey. A week-long intensive sounds difficult, and I am not sorry that I did not do it that way. But I didn’t really do it ANY way, so, more power to you.

The other day, Monkey had the first poop-in-the-pants accident that she has had since we’ve gone sans diapers about three weeks ago. It was disgusting. Although I was disappointed, I was not angry with Monkey. I was, if anything, quite surprised, because until that day, she was doing very well pooping on the potty.

Anyway, I just threw the underpants away.

Imagine my surprise when Monkey pooped her pants again a few hours later!

This time, I discovered that you can clean the underpants quite effectively by swishing them around in the toilet bowl. Also, since I had bought flushable wipes a few days before, I made that clean-up much easier on myself. Monkey got a thorough bath a little earlier than usual.

Maybe she was testing the boundaries of potty training. Maybe she just forgot. It could have been a bid for attention: Both times she pooped her pants, she was in one room playing and I was in the other feeding Bun.

Who knows? It stunk; we all survived; three days later, and she has been accident-free, even from peeing.

So, good luck, LK. Good luck, A. It will happen, although, as always with children, not necessarily the way you planned it (again, good on you for planning!). Take it easy.

For tips from a pro, check out the comment from MaryP over here. I will be thinking of you!

ciao,
rpm

Thursdays are not good days for me. By Thursday I am very tired. I have had enough of the stay-at-home-mom role. I have had enough of the battle of wills, the feeling I have that every day is spent: feeding, diapering, potty visiting, trying to get to nap or quiet time, cleaning, cooking, feeding, bathing, getting to bed, folding laundry, etc. You know the drill as well as I. I am tired of trying to think of things to do with my girls — cheap, nay, free, things. Even more tired of trying to actually do things like grocery shop with them, or play boat, or go for walks around my sidewalk-less neighborhood.

I am just tired.

The TV vow has actually been going pretty well since I wrote about it. Until today. Today I just couldn’t face trying to get Monkey up to her room where she wouldn’t rest or nap or be quiet enough for Bun to sleep. So I left her in the living room (securely gated in), on her Pooh couch, and let her watch a Backyardigans DVD. I proceeded to eat lunch, read a little, clean the kitchen and put in a load of laundry. Plus check my e-mail, update my resume, and read a little more. She was quiet, I have to admit that. She didn’t move from her little couch. So she watched a total three hours of TV instead of one, for which I’ve been aiming. Oh well.

At least I didn’t have Panda’s day.

Monkey doesn’t name her animals yet. When pressed she will usually name it after an aunt, uncle or cousin she’s seen recently.

But she does love them, even when she buries them in grass.

The Good

Pictures!

Go Steelers! Monkey and Bun dressed in proper Sunday gear. The Pittsburgh Steelers are now 2-0. They actually looked kind of impressive in the second half of Sunday’s game against the Buffalo Bills. It may be a good year to be a Steeler fan!

Bun must pull up on everything and everyone. DearDR says she actually stood on her own Saturday afternoon. She’ll be walking by Monkey’s birthday. I can’t stand it…

The Bad
This is about an argument. And the argument is about sex. And if you don’t want to know about arguments or DearDR and my sex life, avert your eyes. Look at more pictures. Or read the funnyness below.

DearDR and I have a troublesome sex life. I’ve mentioned this before. We both like sex, and it is an important compenent of our marriage. Unfortunately it has taken a hit, and it took a big hit this weekend.

Because of our birth control method, known as Natural Family Planning or the Fertility Awareness Method, and because of our differing libidos (mine quite low as of the past year or so, and DearDR’s still very, very high), and our schedules, fitting in actual sexual intercourse is challenging. Additionally, DearDR needs to have sex or have an orgasm, the way I need to read some of a novel at night, or have a glass of wine. It’s how he wants to relax, sometimes the only way he can relax. And believe me, right now DearDR needs some relaxing.

Yesterday, he came over from next door, where he was studying for his licensure test, and tried to get it on with me. Not only am I having my period right now, but I had had a very difficult time getting the kids in for their naps (and Monkey wasn’t really napping, anyway). This on top of a difficult morning and my over-riding desire to sit still for at least one half hour and watch football. Plus, I was washing dishes when he came home.

I said a very unfortunate thing, along the lines of, “I am tired of our sex life being about you hitting me up for blow jobs.” (DearDR, like many men, I suspect, doesn’t really dig having sex “while the painters are in” as he so quaintly puts it.) This, quite understandably, made him quite angry. So he stormed back off next door to study more; and I regretted my outburst but was unable to apologize for it in the moment.

I got more and more depressed as the day wore on over my gaffe and the hurt it inflicted on DearDR, and the fact that it was going to lead to a bigger fight later when really I wanted nothing more than to cuddle up with my husband after the day, and, yeah, maybe help him out with his needs a little bit. But I was angry, too, because it seems like the burden of solving what is wrong with our sex life is on me, and I really don’t want anything else on me right now. That is probably an unfortunate turn of phrase in this context.

And Monkey wouldn’t be quiet in her room, and I couldn’t watch football, and it’s already been a crappy month, and I had had an… let’s call it an intense conversation — one during which my temper snapped and I cried quite a bit — with a friend earlier in the week. When he came home for dinner later, and I confirmed that he was indeed quite angry, I cried, and it took a lot of willpower not to just get in my car and drive away. I just want to run away from big, emotional, intense things lately. And stuff keeps happening along these lines, and I am really tired.

The Absolutely Hysterical

More hilarity from the Monkey occurred over the weekend.

On a walk near the covent down the road from our house, DearDR and Monkey stopped by a statue of Mary holding Jesus. DearDR said, “Who is that?” Monkey answered, “Mary.” (In Monkey-speak, sounds like, “Ma-wy.”) “And who is she holding?” “Baby Jesus.” Then Monkey looked up at DearDR and said, “Where’s Joe?”

Occasionally, DearDR says to Monkey, “Do you know what I want to tell you?” He usually says, “That I love you very much” or “You’re such a beautiful little girl.” Something along those lines. The day after the “Joe” crack, DearDR said to Monkey, “Do you know what I want to tell you?” And Monkey responded, “That you have my present right here?”

Wake me. I will be so relieved.

Aside from my wedding anniversary, this month has sucked. And we’re not even half-way through.

I have a teething infant who is trying like hell to give up her morning nap. I have an intractable toddler (aren’t they all??). I have no job or work; to say money is tight is such an understatement, I can’t think of an analogy for how big an understatement it is. My primary computer crashed out on me. We almost have no health insurance. In order to continue to have health insurance, I have to get $1600 to my former employer by Friday. Said former employer, incidentally, who has an opening for a writer; said FE with whom I have been in touch since Labor Day; said FE who seems completely uninterested in having me back as an employee. In order to send $1600 to my FE by Friday, I may have to call my father to ask for the money. The humiliation and shame such a call will cause me and my husband, I’m not sure it’s worth $1600. At the same time, what is being able to see the doctor or go to the emergency room for mere co-pay dollars, especially when one is talking about kids?

The scariest part of all of this current crap? We’re 11 days in, and it can still get worse. I won’t list the ways.

My faith is keeping me sane. But it sure as heck isn’t paying the bills.

I spent some time looking for this post because it is on my mind. DearDR and I had a tiff yesterday — well, a bit more than a tiff, truth be told. And for an instant I thought (much later, after the not-tiff) about writing about it here. Because there are things going on with us that are hard. Not leave-each-other hard, or hate-each-other hard. But married-people hard, married-people-with-kids hard, married-people-with-kids-going-through-some-shit hard.

But yelling was involved. And head-busting anger. And then I thought, I could get this off my chest and write about it.

And then I thought, “Only it’s not my story. It’s our story, and not such a great part of our story. Which is usually much nicer than this.” So, sorry, I’m not writing about it here.

Also because I think some of my friends stop by here every now again. Probably hoping to see pictures, or other videos. Which, in the latter case, if I could download them from my flip-camera, you would see. But we lost the thing-a-ma-jig that connects to my computer for downloading purposes, and haven’t replaced it yet. And a couple of those friends may hear about this tiff, because they are up on the background of why that kind of tiff may have occurred. But most people I wouldn’t tell this not-nice-story to, not because they are lesser friends or anything like that. Just ’cause. Some people you let inside of your side of a marriage, but most people you don’t. Because it’s yours and your side. And his marriage and story, too. You can’t let a lot of people see the dirty laundry.

Oh, and I also like this post because my husband, too, is a manly man, like HBM’s, and, lastly: we are not perfect, but we are perfect for each other. More on that later, because Saturday is our anniversary.

In a recent trip around my little blog-o-sphere, I found two people who know what I’m going through.

MaryP goes through it with kids who are not even her own (God bless her!).
Dad Gone Mad goes through it with his adoring daughter.

The endless round of questions and comments. The ones that are repeated over and over and over and… you know. Regardless of the answer, the explanation. It doesn’t end; it doesn’t stop.

Recently, in the absence of the nap, and my inability to enforce Monkey’s quiet time (short of tying her to the bed), I thought that if she joined me in the kitchen as I made cherry walnut muffins she would be sufficiently occupied and/or distracted.

Instead, I barely got muffins made. The noise didn’t stop: “Can I have a spoon? Can I do that? Can I hold the egg? Can I stir it?” Answering no just let to escalation: “I have to want to stir that!” “I have to want a spoon!” Answering “in a minute” led to more questioning: “Can I hold it? Can I hold it? Can I hold it?” I finally staved her off by having her line the muffin tin with paper cup liners, and then letting her continue to play with them (on the shopping list: new paper cup liners for muffin pan).

It is the shocking amount of noise my toddler makes that is getting to me (these days, anyway). A day or two before the muffin incident, I had to send Monkey next door. I needed the silence. She was making me nuts! I don’t know how to describe it, except to say that sometimes I have to tell Monkey, “Please go in the other room. Mommy needs quiet time.” That usually doesn’t work for very long, as you can imagine.

I also know that my PMS is making it worse. I swear before I had children, my PMS was barely noticeable (to me, anyway; ex-boyfriends, family members, and DearDR may have a different take on this). My period recently resumed (while I was on vacation as a matter of fact), and about a week or 10 days beforehand, I am extremely emotional. Monkey was running up and down the yard the other day, yelling her head off, and I was overcome by how beautiful she was, her perfect little body hurtling through space, how she is not a baby anymore, and I was literally getting choked up, and I stopped and thought, “Oh, I must be PMS’ing” because I am not usually such a wet noodle.

So the combination of PMS and the endlessly chattering thing that is my toddler is deadly to my nerves. I get frayed very quickly.

And I also recently thought, “Well, does the effect of hormones on my emotions make those emotions invalid?” I mean, in the absence of PMS, would I still be driven crazy by the Monkey? Would I still have to send her away from me? Or would I be able to handle it because even though she were getting on my nerves those same nerves are not awash in PMS hormones?

Is this making sense?

How do you make a hormone?
Don’t pay her.

(Thank you, Lori, the Midwife).